


Italy in Your Eyes

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst, Barista Castiel (Supernatural), Coffee, Coffee Shop Owner Gabriel (Supernatural), Coffee Shops, Customer Dean, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Good Brother Sam, Hungover Dean, Inspired by a game, Light Angst, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Regular Dean, Sam Winchester at Stanford, Shy Dean, Tattooed Dean, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, When He's Not Hungover Anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-16 22:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13063128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Cas sets the order on the newly freed table as a teethy smile folds Dean’s freckles. “You’re an angel,” he states after the first sip.Cas waits until his calloused hands wrap around the porcelain mug and takes a few gentle but generous sips to comment, “You’re drunk.”“Hungover,” Dean corrects with the downward tilt of his head as a burp forms in his throat. “Very hungover.”





	Italy in Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Robert and Mat's brief little interaction in the beginning of the simulator Dream Daddy. Robert reminds me a lot of Dean, and Mat of Cas, and I figure what two things go better together than alcohol and coffee after a hangover? So this was born.

“Cas, could you pretend to clean the counters a little better?”

Cas snaps his attention to his clothed hand, which is, indeed, sticking to the counter more than a bumper car at a local fair—or the actual substance, likely the remnants of Hannah’s vanilla bean she always manages to spill around Cas, that he’s supposed to be cleaning. Dazedly, he turns his head to his older brother. “Gabe, can you take over the register?”

“I know the drill,” he gripes, trading his coffee machine. Cas isn’t too good with the machine… or _any_ machine, for that matter. He still cringes every time he walks past a slushy machine at the _Gas-N-Sip_. But he’s replicated this order for a couple months now to get it down: a black coffee with a shot of milk. The man who orders it doesn’t like to call it a macchiato, even though his eyes span across acres of lush green Italy.

Once the machine finishes releasing its last few drops of black sun, Cas makes his way to Table 6, which is already half-covered by strong, flannel-decked arms cradling a heavy head of chaotic caramel hair. Cas can even see his tattoo on his right arm a bit better, thanks to the pull of the comically oversized cotton. It’s being filled in quite nicely, even if he’s not sure what those feathers represent. “Black with milk.”

His head doesn’t lift the table to turn to the barista. “Cas,” he greets in the same deep and unapologetically grumpy tone. Cas knows it’s not directed towards him, but rather the man’s screaming liver.

“Dean,” Cas returns.

Dean inhales deeply as he pulls himself forward—at first a little too fast, judging by the tightness around his large pink lips. Once he’s safely propped against the back of the chair, he slides his sunglasses off to reveal green Italy. Cas sets the order on the newly freed table as a teethy smile folds Dean’s freckles. “You’re an angel,” he states after the first sip.

Cas waits until his calloused hands wrap around the porcelain mug and takes a few gentle but generous sips to comment, “You’re drunk.”

“Hungover,” Dean corrects with the downward tilt of his head as a burp forms in his throat. “ _Very_ hungover.” Cas laughs. Before he turns on his heel, Dean calls for him again: “Thanks for the coffee, Michael Landon!”

“Always happy to perch on your shoulder, Dean,” Cas replies, though not without a smile of his own.

 

 

The following week, Dean stumbles in, and they repeat the same routine. Except this time, he has a friend in tow… or, rather, his friend is towing _him._

Unlike Dean, the man is clean-shaven and takes a more confident stride in a pair of brown Oxfords. His silver tie is tucked neatly into the V of his black suit—much like, Cas is guessing by the leather briefcase on his opposing arm, his tongue he keeps tucked between his teeth.

“Hi, welcome to Gabe’s Grind, what can I do for you?” Cas greets, moving to the register.

Up close, Cas can see the man’s features easier. He has chocolate hair that sweeps over a tanned forehead and curls around and behind his large ears, exposing his thin sideburns. His eyes can’t be related to Italy’s greenery, but they can be linked to the soil that helps sustain the landscape.  “Hi, um…. I was actually just planning on dropping him off,” he says, gesturing with his head to Dean, still attached to his side, “but since I’m here, why not? I’ll have a medium Americano and he’ll take—”

“A black with a shot of milk,” Cas finishes, though not to the man’s surprise.

“I’m sorry,” he says, smiling to reveal indents in his cheeks similar to the ones Dean has when he’s grumpy, “you must think I’m the worst person in the world.”

Cas tilts his head to the side a little in question. “What do you mean?”

“I’m Dean’s brother, Sam,” he replies, offering a hand to Cas. He has to say, in all his years working customer service he’s never had such a formal and outdated introduction. Especially at a coffee shop. People are either on their way out as quick as they came in or use their laptop as a scapegoat for their lack of social interaction. “He’s told me about you,” he adds when Cas puts his hand in his. “He says you take good care of him.”

Cas blushes, thankful Dean’s still stirring awake as not to see it. “I do my best.”

“Yeah, I’ve just been jam-packed with finals, you know? Gotta keep my grades up to keep the scholarship. Meanwhile, this kid gets _hammered_ every time he so much as steps foot on campus…”

“’m four years older than you,” Dean grumbles.

Sam scoffs, pressing forward, “ _Anyway,_ I try to be the responsible brother in getting him home the next morning before my class, but he won’t even let me touch him unless he has his coffee, so he takes the bus here. I swear, he’s like a—”

“Bear?” Cas offers, “A giant, angry bear?”

Sam laughs, “You got it. The only reason he’s clinging onto me now is because I promised I’d be here when he asks you out, but from the looks of it…” Sam looks down at Dean, who’s moved onto bigger and better skies, ones likely littered with big, fluffy sheep. Cas shakes his head with a fond smile.

“Not a problem, one medium Americano coming right up,” he replies. “And is that for here or to-go?”

“To-go, unfortunately,” Sam grunts as he sets Dean down at a table, who immediately protests. “What?”

“Oh, he sits on the opposite table,” Cas says. “He doesn’t like the sun hitting him from the window. He says sunlight is the work of the devil.”

Sam rolls his eyes with a sigh as he heaves him back into his arms, “ _Now_ he’s pious.”

Cas already has Dean’s not-macchiato ready for him at the counter before he can slump against the table. He’s sheepish in admitting to Sam he’s already prepared it, but granted it’s confirmed that Dean likes him in that respect too, it’s probably not the most out-of-the-ordinary thing right now Plus, Sam looks more grateful than anything when he carries the mug to Dean, who immediately perks up like a dog inhaling bacon minus the ears, though… yeah, no, his hair’s in two points today on either side of his head, so that works.

“And one Americano,” Cas announces, handing the plastic cup to Sam. Sam pays for both of them and kindly escorts himself out after Cas wishes him luck on the rest of his finals, leaving Cas to look at Dean, who, for now, is content to blush profusely and blame it on the warm contents in his mug.

 

 

“ _Stanford Law?”_ Cas remarks in awe. “Well that definitely explains Sam’s studious nature.”

Dean nods, a small smile playing on his lips. Though, if you ask Cas, it looks a bit forced. “Yeah, he’s a good kid. Focused, you know? Nothing stops him. Once he sets his sights on something, he pushes through.”

As it turns out, Dean’s a lot more fun when he’s sober—not that Cas didn’t enjoy his grumpy greetings, flirty banter, and tired smiles. After all, they’re the very essence of Dean that’s caused Cas’s heart to rise like the steam from Dean’s mug. Only, instead of rising and dissipating, Cas’s crush has only burned hotter. “So,” he starts, changing the subject, “you… wanted to ask me out?”

Dean smiles around his mug. He takes a conveniently long sip, and then sets it right underneath his nose. Despite it being December, it’s three pm, so it’s actually only around seventy degrees—meaning that mug is more than likely Dean’s safety blanket. “That’s right.” Cas bites his lip and lifts his eyebrows as sign to continue. Dean laughs. It’s a nice laugh. “Um… do you mind if I show you something?”

He’s not sure if Dean’s intentionally changing the subject, so he keeps his head titled and his blue eyes furrowed with light suspicion as he nods.

Then Dean’s shrugging out of his flannel (today’s pick is a purple one with blue crosshatches that actually fits him) and Cas’s mouth falls open when he sees it, the tattoo he’s only caught glimpses of over the past couple months. Now the feathers make sense: They’re angel feathers. It’s beautifully highlighted, and is nicely contrasted to represent light to dark as they extend out, even if it’s not yet complete. “Dean,” he breathes, “it’s… _gorgeous._ ”

“I’m glad you think so,” he replies, ducking to hide his blush. “See, my mom passed away a few months ago, and I remember she used to tell me angels are watching over me. And I didn’t believe her until a month after…”  Dean pauses to look up at Cas again, brandishing a smile. “When I walked into a coffee shop and met a guy that proved her right.”

Cas’s eyes widen as his heart picks up in his chest. He feels like his brain’s a giant unsolved puzzle and all the missing pieces are fitting together at once. “Dean...”

“Thank you,” Dean interrupts, moving the mug so he can reach across the table to put his hand in Cas’s. “I know I’ve been obnoxious, stumbling in hungover and tired and cranky, and basically the epitome of every coffee meme out there, and you had every right to be the same to me. And I promise, from now on, if you do accept my asking you on a date, I’ll show you the same respect you deserve.”

Cas smiles so hard he feels his own stubble poke him from where his cheeks are folding. “I’ll miss him.”

“Who?”

“Hungover Dean,” Cas replies, “even if he was obnoxious and sometimes spilt coffee everywhere.”

Dean laughs, “Yeah… yeah, he _did_ do that.”

Cas takes the initiative to intertwine their fingers before leaning across the table. He only makes it halfway when Dean captures his lips in an open-mouthed kiss. He tastes like black coffee with a shot of milk.

When he pulls back, all Cas can see for miles ahead of him is the Italian countryside.


End file.
